


Not a Damsel

by distant_rose



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Captain Swan January Joy, Crappy Snowplows, Emma Swan don't need your help, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 21:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13280529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distant_rose/pseuds/distant_rose
Summary: Emma Swan isn’t looking for help. She doesn’t need a hero. She can save herself thank you very much. Her next door neighbor Killian doesn’t seem to have gotten that memo however,





	Not a Damsel

**Author's Note:**

> Hi people! *waves* Despite the fact I have so much on my plate with my upcoming law exams and my CSLB project, I decided to participate in CS January Joy mainly because I’m insane. This isn’t as great as it should be. I was planning on actually doing a bartender AU for this, but the words just weren’t coming. Anyway, this was inspired by how pissed off my parents’ neighbor was at my father plowing her driveway for her during Snowstorm Grayson. A special thanks to lenfaz for organizing January Joy this year and also to welpthisishappening for encouraging me to write words and being a fabulous person. 10 points to anyone who figures out all of the dumb ass movie/television show references I made in this pile of garbage. There’s at least four.

On an early January morning, Emma Swan woke up to a white window. Not white in the sense that it was painted so, but rather that all she could see outside it was a thick wall furiously falling snow rather than the cozy side street she lived on or even the lazy old trees that lined her property. Just a giant wall of white.

“Goddamn it.”

She rolled away from the window and stared up at the cracks on her ceiling, raking her fingers through her long blonde hair. When she heard that there was a possible storm coming their way, she had hoped that shitty vapid weatherman had gotten it wrong again. Emma hated snow with a passion; to the point where she often changed the color in the Bing Crosby classic to ‘brown’ when she sang about dreaming of Christmas. So far despite the abominably subzero temperature, Emma had been relatively happy with the rather barren weather pattern.

Until the clouds had decided to let loose an absurd amount of nature’s dandruff that morning.

Letting out a grumpy sigh, Emma finally turned on her crappy television to see what the damage was and how long she would spend plowing out her driveway. Almost immediately her least favorite weatherman in the world graced the screen and was happily crowing about the amount of snow had fallen.

“There seems to be reported eight inches on the ground in areas like Appleton, Camden and Owlshead. A whooping nine inches was reported from Storybrooke and Saint George this morning! And there’s still an estimated five more inches to come! We’re still maintaining our Winter Storm Warning in Know County until four o’clock this afternoon.”

She wanted nothing more than to throw her remote at his smirking face. The bastard probably had someone who plowed his driveway for him and didn’t realize how much of a pain in the ass this was for normal people like her. However, since Johnny Frost was in front of a green screen twenty miles away from her in some remote corporate building, the best she could do to him was just aggressively hit the power button and banish him from her sight.

Emma and her eight-year old son Henry lived in Storybrooke, a town that looked and sometimes felt like it came from a bizarre alternate dimension created by Walt Disney himself. It was charming but most of the homes were built back in the 1800s and 1700s, including theirs. That fact was never more apparent than during a cold winter when the furnace didn’t necessarily work as it should and the floors felt more like ice than wood. Upon leaving her nest of blankets, she was hit with what felt like an arctic blast. Immediately she grabbed her comforter and curled it protectively around her like cloak.

“Fuck winter,” she muttered under breath as she clamored out of her room. She didn’t even pause when she passed her son’s bedroom. There was no point. It was only a matter of seconds before she would receive an automated call from Storybrooke Elementary to tell her that school was canceled for the day.

Trying to delay the inevitable, Emma took the time to make herself some hot chocolate; not bothering with the powdered Swiss Miss nonsense, but going old school and actually heating up a sauce pan with milk. Her ugly pink stove hummed as she set it to medium heat. Though she took no real joy in it, skimming the milk and mixing in the cocoa and sugar allowed her to keep inside the meager warmth of her house just a bit longer.

Once she was finished with the tedious task of mixing chocolate into the milk, she poured herself a cup and mindfully kept enough behind for Henry should he wake up early. She sat down at her breakfast table, watching the snow piling up in her backyard. Gaging by her crappy junkyard bird bath, there was at least a foot of snow back there. Ten inches, her ass. Her weatherman was the worst.

After placing her mug in the sink and sluggishly pulling on her winter gear, Emma headed into the garbage in order to start her snow blower. The green pile of rust was nearly as old as she was and had been given to her by her former foster mother five years ago, but it was still kicking. Granted, it had been to the repair shop far more times than Emma was happy with but it was better than wasting money on a new one. As long as it worked, she was happy.

Except that morning, it didn’t seem to want to work.

“You got to be fucking kidding me!”

She yanked at the cord. The stupid hunk of metal let out a pathetic whine but refused to start. So Emma did what any rational and emotionally balanced adult would do in the situation. She kicked it. Repeatedly. Pain shot up her leg, but she ignored it in favor of glaring at her snow blower.

“I hate you,” she informed the inanimate object.

It didn’t reply, but Emma was sane enough not to expect one.  She pulled the cord again, hoping the electric starter would start up this go around. It gave another noise and for a moment, she thought the engine was going to turn and everything was going to be alright. That moment didn’t last very long.

“I swear to all that is holy, this year I’m finally going to send you to scrap yard and I will actually wait as long as necessary in order to watch them squish you into a useless cube of metal.”

She gave her snow blower once last try and after what seemed like ages, it came to life; shaking violently in place. Apparently it took her scrap yard threat seriously enough to cooperate. She let out a whoop of delight and pressed the button to open her garbage door; mentally preparing herself for the hours she would spend outside plowing away a foot of snow off of her drive way along with the amount of shoveling she would have to do in order to unearth her sidewalk and pathway to her front door.

The garage door moaned and rattled as it obeyed her command. Emma pushed the snow blower towards the opening door, ready for her grueling task.

Only to discover that her task had already been done for her. Emma stared, not believing her eyes. Except no matter how many times she blinked, the scene in front of her remained unchanged. She had spent ten minutes trying to get her snow blower to work for absolutely nothing.

There was only one person who would have the balls to do this.

“Killian!” Emma huffed.

She immediately turned to face the large brick house that sat on the property right of hers, scowling. Though he was not outside, she had no illusions that he was home. No one was going anywhere in this weather. She immediately marched down her driveway, determined to confront him.

Killian Jones had been her neighbor and pain in the ass for the past seven months. Where Emma’s other neighbors had taken the hint and left her to her own devices, Killian had yet to leave her be. Not a day would go by without Killian coming over and offering to do something for her like some wannabe knight-in-shining armor; whether it be trying to help her bring in groceries or raking the leaves off her lawn. He seemed to be under the impression that since she was a young single mother that she was in need of a rescue. Emma Swan didn’t need saving. She saved herself. And it was time that he got the memo.

She stomped her way up his front steps loudly and jabbed at his door bell as hard as she could, pushing it repeatedly. She didn’t care how obnoxious she was being as he hadn’t taken her subtle hints in the past. It was time to go big or go home.

“Alright, alright, alright! I heard you the first time,” his voice called, muffled by the door between them, from the other side. A few seconds passed and there were a few soft clicks as Killian unlocked his front door and peered out. Upon seeing Emma, his slightly annoyed expression twisted into a broad grin. His entire posture changed, growing relaxed and he leaned languidly against the inside of the doorframe. He looked positively pleased to see her.

“Swan! At last!” There was a breathlessness to his voice that made her insides flutter, but Emma ignored it and focused on being angry.

“Did you plow my driveway?” she asked bluntly, placing her hands on her hips.

If it were possible, his oversized smile grew.

“Yes, I did! No need to thank me, Swan, it was my pleasu—” Emma didn’t wait for him to finish. She raised her right hand and swung at him with a closed fist. It connected with his jaw and she watched with some satisfaction as he stumbled backwards a few steps. He stared at her in shock for a few moments, massaging his bruised jaw and blinking rapidly. When he finally seemed to process that she had punched him, his expression changed into one of pure confusion.

“What the hell was that for!”

“You chauvinistic bastard! How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone! I don’t need saving!”

“What?”

“You heard me!”

“I did heard words, but they didn’t necessarily make sense or explain why you decided to assault me,” he replied, his hand still rubbing at his face.

“Then let me clear it up for you. I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t need a knight in shining armor. Never wanted one, never will. There is only one person who saves me and that’s me! Got it?”

Killian gaped at her words, staring at her in disbelief.

“Are you seriously telling me that the reason you punched me is because I plowed your driveway?”

“I didn’t ask you to! I didn’t want you to!” Emma replied, crossing her arms in front of her chest defensively.

“You’re absolutely positively mad. Most people say thank you when people do nice things for them! But you….you’re something else!”

“I’m something else? You’re the one who can’t seem to understand that I am not looking for a hero! I can take care of myself!”

“I never said you couldn’t, Swan! I’m not trying to be your bloody hero! Just your neighbor!”  he snapped back.

“Oh, for the love of Christ, just kiss already!” A voice called out in annoyance.

Both Killian and Emma turned their attention towards the source. Mrs. Lucas, who lived across the street with her granddaughter, was standing on sidewalk with her enormously large pet husky Anita. She returned their stare with one of her own, looking an entirely unimpressed with them.

“Kiss him? I don’t even want to be the same vicinity as him!” Emma scoffed.

“You flatter me, Swan.”

“Please! As if your ginormous male ego wasn’t in need of popping!”

“Nice to know what you think of me, love.”

“Not your love.”

“Oh good lord! Youth is wasted on the young!”  Mrs. Lucas commented with some exasperation as she picked up the ridiculous amount of waste her dog had left on Killian’s front lawn with an orange plastic bag. “Neither of you are fooling anyone. Honestly, I should just cancel my subscription to the Hallmark channel. it’s costing me an arm and a leg and frankly watching the two of you circle around each other is more dramatic than anything they spit out.”

“Glad you’re entertained, but my life isn’t a shitty direct-to-video movie,” Emma replied through gritted teeth.

“Oh, you’re not a prickly single mother who has been burned by a previous love and is trying to push everyone away under the pretense of not needing anyone, especially your attractive neighbor who has been in love with you since he saw you?”

“Attractive?” Killian smirked, raising his eyebrows at the older woman.

Emma responded by promptly stepping on Killian’s toes. He grimaced, giving her a wounded look that she rolled her eyes at.

“Seriously, that’s all you got out of that pile of nonsense?”

“It sounded pretty accurate to me, love.”

“Not. Your. Love.”

“If you say so.”

“Look, as much as I love the banter and as entertaining as the last seven months have been, for the love of god, you could both get with the program and finally just have dinner together, kiss and follow it up by getting married and having lots of sex and babies? I’m not gonna live forever, you know!”

“Seriously, stay out of this!” Emma hissed.

“If you don’t want people commenting on your absurd love life then you shouldn’t make it the entire neighborhood’s business by shouting at each other,” she replied, unfazed. “But I meant what I said. Do something about the sexual tension. Like I said before, my old heart can’t take it anymore.”

And with that, Mrs. Lucas tugged on her dog’s leash and turned back towards her small red house across the way. Emma’s eyes followed her retreating figure, shaking her head as she did so.

“What a woman,” Killian chuckled.

“She’s something alright,” she replied sardonically.

“But she’s not wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“I do fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me,” he responded with a small chuckle.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m afraid not,” Killian’s small smile turned slightly pained. “Listen, Emma, I don’t do the things I do because I think you’re need of a hero. I don’t view you as some damsel in need of saving. Quite the opposite in fact. Half of the reason I like you is because I think you’re incredibly strong and you can do anything you set your mind to. Including winning an amateur boxing title because while I’m still being frank, you belt like bloody Andy Lee.”

Emma couldn’t help but feel sheepish. She shifted in place, tugging her hair behind her ear.

“Listen, I shouldn’t have done that,” she replied. “Regardless of how I felt, I shouldn’t have punched you. Even my eight-year old is more mature than that. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to press charges.”

“There’s no need for that, love. My jaw is only slightly broken,” he responded with a crooked smile.

Emma punched him lightly in the arm.

“That’s not funny!”

“Apologies, Swan, that jest was in poor taste. I would ask to take you out for dinner in recompense, but I’m afraid I’ll lose my head if I do so, as you seem to be prone to violence,” he replied, smile never wavering.

“Actually, I think it’s probably me who should be asking you out to dinner.” She bit her lip, looking away from him and shuffling on her toes again. It was a nervous habit that she had long tried to break with little success.

“Pardon?”

“You heard me.”

“I heard something, but I’m starting wonder if I’m suffering some sort of hearing loss from that punch you threw.”

“Hilarious,” she rolled her eyes. “But seriously, I’m asking you out.”

“Why?”

“What? Women can’t ask men out? What are you three-hundred or something? I thought we already established I’m a hero, not a damsel. So, what’s the problem here?”

“Well, for starters, until twenty seconds ago, I had no idea that you were even remotely interested in me being anything aside from your punching bag. I’m just trying to follow the leap in attitude here. I’m not complaining…just confused.”

Emma sighed, resisting the urge to rip out more of her hair. She wasn’t good at emotions, especially her own. It was half the reason she kept people at arm’s length.

“Well, because...listen, Granny was right. Well, kinda. Or sorta. She said a lot of wrong things. Like most of that was wrong but she kinda made me realise that life is kinda short and despite the fact I punched you and the horrible things I said, you’re actually a nice guy. So...yeah...why not...dinner tomorrow? I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Killian stared at her, looking dazed. A few awkward seconds passed and everything inside Emma was screaming to abort mission. She was about to reassure him that it wasn’t a big deal and to forget about it when a big goofy grin lit across his face.

“You’re being serious.”

She blinked at the statement.

“Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, this has kinda been a bizarre interaction, love. Forgive me for being a little slow on the uptake. But yes, I would love to have dinner with you.”

“And seven is a good time for you?” she asked in clarification.

“It’s excellent.”

“Okay.” A small uncontrollable grin crossed Emma’s face and she started to descend down his steps; retreating before she could anything to ruin this moment. “See you tomorrow?”

Killian’s own smile grew.

“I’ll see you then.”

She paused when she was halfway down his path.

“And Killian?”

“Yes, love?”

“Thanks for plowing my driveway.”

“You’re welcome. If you promise to refrain from punching me, I will keep doing it for you. I’ve seen the little rust bucket you have and I’m always afraid it’s gonna crap out on you.”

“Promise?”

“Of course.”

And with that, Emma nodded and went back towards her own house where no doubt Henry would be wondering where she was. There was a giddy feeling instead her chest and she felt more lighthearted than she had in years; something that translated into an extra exuberance in her stride. However, if anyone claimed to have seen her skipping on that morning, she would firmly deny it.


End file.
